reality
is pins and needles
as the sparrows
scream

it is okay
somedays
to not be
okay

others
it is all
i can do
not to
scream
until bloody flecks
adorn the
nascent hell
hoarsely decry
fluctuating
between
skinless in
a sandstorm
or shivering
numbly nude
on a glacier

pinned and
needled
by anxieties
the circulation
to my soul
cutoff
hanging like
a withered umbilical
stained with
maternal neglect

it is okay
some decades
to not be
okay

probably.